


Father Figure

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Father/Son Incest, Gentle Sex, Incest Kink, M/M, Medical Jargon, Naughty List 2019, Obsessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Restraints, This Is for Your Own Good, You look pretty when you cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-07 12:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: There wasn’t any hurry. Nothing to do, nowhere to go. Fortunately, Dr. Martin Whitly had plenty of creative ideas for passing the time.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 13
Kudos: 210
Collections: Naughty List 2019





	Father Figure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychomachia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/gifts).

There wasn’t any hurry. Nothing to do, nowhere to go. Fortunately, Dr. Martin Whitly had plenty of creative ideas for passing the time.

“Good boy . . . such a _good boy_ . . .” Martin murmured as he began easing his cock gently, gently, ah, oh so very gently, into his son’s tight hole.

“Dad, no!” Malcolm bucked and thrashed, but his wrists and ankles were manacled, and so his struggles were utterly futile.

Martin petted the top of Malcolm’s head soothingly as he eased in deeper, opening his son, stretching him, wide, then wider, until he was all the way in. Malcolm had done so well, taking his father like that! Martin reared back, to admire how intimately they were joined, and was delighted to note that Malcolm’s own smaller cock was iron-hard against his belly. So adorable! Clearly his son doth protesteth too much! Martin petted the length of his son’s cock just like he’d petted the top of his son’s head, delighting in the silky, fragile skin against his palm.

“No! Please!” Malcolm’s cock gave a little thump underneath Martin’s hand. Although his mouth was saying no, his cock was saying _yes. Oh God, yes_.

“Sex-induced release of endorphins and the hormone oxytocin will help you with your chronic anxiety, my boy.” Martin eased his hips backwards, withdrawing almost the whole length of his cock until his glans caught on Malcolm’s rim. “You’ll see. This will make you _better_.”

He rode his hips back in in one long, slow, gentle thrust. Malcolm moaned as he struck bottom. He pulled out, pushed in again. And again. And again. He wrapped his arms around Malcolm’s waist and reached up to grip his shoulders, holding him close. Their chests rested together; Malcolm’s erection was trapped between their bellies.

“You’re doing well!” Martin murmured against the vulnerable base of Malcolm’s throat. He could feel the clench and release, clench and release of Malcolm’s inner muscles, and he could feel the swell of his prostate gland with each deliberate pass. Martin knew _he_ was doing well, too.

He maintained the gentle pace even as the predictable, pleasurable tension built at the base of his cock. He didn’t stop or falter even as he began to come, raining tender, loving kisses everywhere on his son his mouth would reach as he filled him with a warm flood of semen.

After the transcendent ecstasy of his orgasm had receded, Martin noticed that Malcolm was still crying silently and trembling with unrelieved arousal. This meant they weren’t done yet. Still buried inside his son, his cock gave a tentative thump of renewed interest.

“Did you know that if I do not allow you to expel it, most of the content of my semen will, given time, be taken into your bloodstream by the mucosal lining of your colon?” Martin remarked.

Malcolm blinked, and two more tears fell from his lashes. His lips were pressed into a tight, firm line. He was refusing to reply.

Ah, no matter. Martin wiped the tears from his beautiful son’s baby-soft cheeks and cooed into his ear as he gave another gentle thrust. “It’s almost romantic, isn’t it? That your body will just naturally make something that was a part of me a part of you?” He smiled indulgently as Malcolm emitted a convulsive sob. “Well. Even more than we are part of each other already. I _did_ make you, after all.”

“Dad . . . !” Malcolm gasped and flailed his limbs so frantically that his manacles rattled. His cock spat out a little blurt of precome, and the sight of this undeniable tribute to his father’s expert attentions sent an electric jolt of pleasure racing down Martin’s spine. He resumed the slow, gentle rhythm of his thrusts; he was more than ready for another round now. Yes, they were indeed the same, he and his son, and they wanted—nay, needed!—each other, just the same.

He wouldn’t fail Malcolm.

“What a good boy. _My _good boy. We’ll get you there, don’t worry. You’ll have what you need. There’s no hurry, no hurry whatsoever . . .”

Dr. Martin Whitly was serving seven consecutive life sentences without possibility of parole. He was never in any particular hurry to do anything.

Smiling, he resettled himself more comfortably in his desk chair, took himself to hand once more, and sank sweetly back into his masturbatory fantasies.


End file.
